


Love and Other Pretty Things

by kelios



Series: Love and Other Pretty Things [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Foot Fetish, Lingerie Kink, M/M, Sam in lingerie, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5671606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on spn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com</p><p>For whatever reason, Sam has a foot fetish, especially about Dean's feet. Dean doesn't quite understand the attraction, but he'd do anything for Sam, so he's always allowed Sam to get off this way. Sam's favorite way to worship Dean's feet is to kneel at them and give Dean a careful pedicure (clear nail polish only). Dean pretends to tolerate it, but acually this pampering is his favorite part. Then Dean lets Sam lick his toes, etc gradually working up to holding Dean's feet together and fucking the gap between them, coming on Dean's feet eventually. </p><p>Bonus: Dean can be really kind of uncomfortable with it, but he keeps a special pair of stiletto heels that fit him and wears them when he feels Sam deserves extra special treatment. Dean kind of really likes wearing the heels, but he's very uncomfortable with how much he likes it and how much he's learned to like the whole foot worship thing over the years. </p><p>Extra Bonus: Because Dean is so awesome about meeting Sam's needs, Sam is equally accepting about some fetish/need Dean has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Other Pretty Things

They don’t do it all that often. Mostly when they have some down time, some time to actually stop and think--sometimes when one of them is getting over being sick or hurt and one or the other of them needs some kind of reassurance. And sometimes just because they feel like it. 

Dean got over feeling weird or bad about it a long time ago. In fact, if he’s honest with himself he maybe secretly kind of likes it. Sam doesn’t want this from anyone else--he says he didn’t do it the entire time he was at Stanford and Dean believes him: the first time they did it after he got back, right after they ganked that fucked up scarecrow that one time, Sam came so hard he actually passed out and would have brained himself on the arm of the chair if Dean hadn’t been fast enough to catch him. And when it comes right down to it, that makes Dean feel pretty fucking good. 

So here it is: Sam likes Dean’s feet. He likes to see them, touch them, kiss them. Suck Dean’s toes and rub his stubbly face on Dean’s sensitive arches. He likes to massage them (another thing that makes Dean feel really fucking good, especially after a long day clomping around in boots), rub oil into them til they’re soft and smooth. He likes to buff Dean’s toenails and paint them with clear polish. And then, after he’s done pampering Dean and turning him into a giant puddle of goo, he likes to push the soles of Dean’s feet together and fuck them. 

By the time they get to that point, Sam’s usually holding onto control by a thread. His hands don’t shake--that would mess up Dean’s polish--but he’s breathing hard and his pulse is racing so hard Dean can see it jumping in his throat. His lips are bitten red and swollen and puffy and every single time Dean can’t help but think how good they’d look wrapped around his cock, but that’s not the way this works. When he’s done lavishing every bit of love on Dean’s feet that he can, Sam will look up at Dean, desperate, pleading (and there’s one more thing about this that feels really fucking good, Dean’s gonna have to make a list pretty soon) and Dean will stretch out one foot, trace the hard thick line of Sam’s cock where it’s soaked a wet spot into his jeans and rub. 

That’s Sam’s cue. He moans like a pornstar, pulls himself out, dripping and almost painfully hard. Sam’s always been a leaker, but this….goddamn Niagra Falls. He rubs himself all over Dean’s feet--his toes, the soles, his arches, even his heels, sometimes, even though they’re usually a little rough. Dean used to try and help, anticipate what his brother might like, but he’s learned over the years that it works best if he just lets Sam _use_ him (another one for the list), if he just stays still, rock hard in his own jeans, maybe a hand on his cock because who wouldn’t need some relief with Sam fucking Winchester on his knees in front of them? 

And then the coup de grace: Sam pushes Dean’s feet together, soles almost touching (not the most comfortable, but who gives a fuck at this point) and slides that big, beautiful cock right between them, fucking the space between Dean’s arches. Dean loves watching him like this--usually when they fuck he’s so blissed out himself he can barely see, but times like this drive home that Dean’s little brother is goddamn _beautiful_. Lush, perfect mouth dropped open in ecstasy, long thick hair that Dean loves to get his hands in falling in perfect waves around those gorgeous half closed eyes, washboard abs that Dean’s tongue knows by heart at this point flexing and working as Sam thrusts against Dean. And of course Sam’s cock, sliding in and out of Dean’s sight, making his mouth water with each glimpse. Fucking beautiful. 

So yeah, Dean’s a little (a lot) more okay with this than he used to be. Enough that now, when things are starting to settle down a little, when they’ve decided to take a little ‘we’ time, he maybe kind of wants it even. Misses it just a little. Which is why he’s been strolling through the bunker barefoot the last few days, watching Sam swallow hard every time Dean pauses in a doorway or leans against a table, legs crossed and one bare foot tucked up behind the other. Why he’s sitting in the library right now in nothing but his boxers and his dead guy robe pretending to read with his feet propped up on the coffee table while he waits for Sam to finally catch a clue and _get in here_. 

Fortunately for both of them, Sam _is_ the one blessed with brains, and Dean doesn’t have to pretend to read for long--thank God, because ancient Sumerian isn’t really his thing. He turns a page, casually glances up, and nearly swallows his tongue because oh yeah. Sam’s here for this. 

He’s wearing Dean’s favorite shirt, the soft, worn gray one that clings to his shoulders and chest like it loves touching Sam as much as Dean does. And his sleep pants, the ones that cup his ass like Dean’s hand and make the soft swell of his cock look downright obscene. He falls gracefully to his knees in front of Dean, looking up at him almost shyly, letting the hem of his shirt ride up just a bit to show a flash of red, and Dean goes from zero to fifty so fast it _hurts_ , because that’s their other thing. 

Dean’s thing. 

It’s not that Dean wants Sam to be a woman, let’s be clear on that. God, no. He likes Sam just the way he is, loves to worship his big beautiful cock, loves getting split open and fucked--through the mattress, up against the wall, in the backseat of Dean’s baby--pretty much whenever and where ever Sam wants to go. But Dean also loves him like this--framed in lace and silk, smooth and bare and so, so pretty. Sam was 16 the first time he did this for Dean--all long legs and coltish grace, and to this day Dean has never seen anything more beautiful than when Sam dresses up for him. 

They don’t usually talk much when they do this, but Dean can’t help himself this time--it’s been a long damn time since they indulged themselves like this. “Let me see,” he says, voice rough and low, and Sam’s head jerks up from where he’s been opening his bag and laying out the things he wants to use. The flush that creeps up over his cheeks just makes Dean hotter, more desperate, as Sam stands back up and strips off his t shirt and sleep pants. 

Dean groans almost painfully. Sam’s wearing his favorite, red satin with tiny black bows, the ones that barely cover his gorgeous cock. He’s already getting hard under Dean’s gaze, biting his lip, pupils blown wide and dark as he leaks all over his pretty panties. But he’s gone even further this time. Matching red lace garters stripe his thighs, holding up sleek black stockings and Dean feels like he just ran a race, like he can’t quite catch his breath. He leans forward almost against his will, needing to be closer, to rub his face all over Sam’s body. But he doesn’t, because this is for Sam and that’s not the way they do this. Dean stops himself a few inches away, breath raising goosebumps on the silky smooth skin of Sam’s thighs as he tries to get himself under some semblance of control. 

But Sam….well. He’s always liked breaking the rules, and this one shatters like a dropped glass when he grips Dean’s hair and tilts Dean’s face up to his. 

“Touch me,” Sam says, a little breathless, half plea and half order. “Please, Dean. I want you to.” And it’s not like Dean has ever been able to say no to Sam, but God. This. Dean slides off the chair onto his knees, giving into the need to get his hands and face all over every inch of Sam that he can reach. Sam moans above him as Dean’s hands glide up his legs--not even a hint of stubble to catch on his stockings, just pure silk under Dean’s fingers. Dean rubs his face against Sam’s dick with a ragged groan, breathing in the sweet, musky smell of Sam’s arousal as he digs his fingers into the meat of Sam’s ass to force him closer. Sam’s rocking against his face, both hands in Dean’s hair now, dragging him closer as Dean mouths his way up the length of Sam’s cock to wear the head is showing red and swollen above the center bow, like a present Sam got just for him. Dean kisses it, doesn’t suck or lick, kisses it like he would Sam’s mouth, fucking the slit with his tongue and drinking down the clear, salty slick practically gushing out. Sam nearly sobs, fingers so tight in Dean’s hair it would hurt if Dean were capable of feeling anything but pleasure, but as it is every touch, every moan, every sobbing gasp is a livewire straight to Dean’s dick and he’s not sure he’s going to make it to the actual fucking part at this rate because Sam is taking him _apart_. 

It’s an effort to pull away from Sam, but Dean does it. Sam protests wordlessly, hips bucking forward as his hands tug none too gently on Dean’s hair, urging him back. Dean pulls Sam’s hands away, pressing a kiss to each palm as Dean levers himself back up into the chair. He’s breathing hard, almost panting, and his current lack of physical contact with Sam is almost painful, though not as painful as the confusion on Sam’s face. 

“Sit,” Dean says, voice hoarse and rough, and Sam obeys, dropping to his knees again without hesitation (and fuck if that doesn’t almost push Dean right over the edge all on it’s own, Jesus). Dean runs his toes up the silky smoothness of Sam’s thighs, stopping just short of the lacy edge of his his panties. Sam curls forward with a moan but doesn’t touch, looking up at Dean pleadingly as he struggles to stay still. He watches, licking his lips as Dean works himself through the slit in his boxers, groaning under his breath at even the lightest touch on his sensitive flesh. “C’mere, Sammy,” Dean orders, and Sam leans forward, planting both elbows in the soft cushion on either side of Dean’s knees as he looks up at Dean from under his lashes . The movement pushes Dean’s feet against against Sam’s thighs, and Sam fucking _whines_ , control all but crushed under the weight of his desire. 

“Gonna be the death of me, Sammy, I swear to God--Just give me a minute, okay?” Dean shifts in the chair, watching Sam’s face as he gently moves his feet to cover the hot, hard length of Sam’s cock. He sees when Sam gets what he’s doing, eyes rolling back in his head as his hips push hard against the soles Dean’s feet. 

“Oh, God, Dean,” Sam sighs, one hand falling down between his thighs to hold Dean’s feet tight against him. He spreads his thighs slightly, adjusting the angle, and pushes again with a broken moan. “Dean. _Dean_.” It cuts right through Dean, so sharp and desperate and gorgeous and his hips buck up hard, tracing a line of slick over Sam’s cheek. Sam turns into it with another moan, opens his mouth along the thick vein on the underside and licks his way all the way up. Dean curses under his breath, half a second away from begging when Sam slides down over the head, suckling in the same frantic rhythm his hips are setting against Dean’s feet. 

Dean’s head falls back against the chair, hands tangling in Sam’s hair as he fights not to just shove hard and fast into Sam’s mouth. He lifts his head to watch as Sam’s thrusts get more desperate and it’s _killing_ him in the best possible way that Sam is losing it like this. Sam gives one more push and shudders, straining against Dean, his whole body arching beautifully as he comes, spurting hot and sticky over Dean’s feet. Dean pushes up reflexively as Sam moans around him, burying himself in Sam’s mouth and Sam doesn’t pull away, slides down to meet him instead as he fucks his throat on Dean’s cock. Dean comes with a surprised shout, flooding Sam with his release. Sam tries to swallow it all, throat contracting and pulsing, and Dean strains to get deeper, pleasure searing and crackling along every nerve. 

At last Sam pulls back, face red and tears leaking down his cheeks, collapsing against the chair and Dean’s knees. “Jesus Christ, Dean,” he croaks, voice ruined, and Dean feels a flash of guilt, made worse by the way his spent cock twitches at the sound. “That was fucking _amazing_.” He smiles dazedly up at Dean, loose and happy, easing the clench around Dean’s heart just a little.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his own voice not quite working right either. He tugs Sam up and into his lap, pulling him down for a kiss, chasing the taste of _them_ as he strokes and squeezes Sam’s softening cock through his ruined panties. “Made kind of a mess here, Sammy,” he teases gently. “Is this some kind of new pedicure technique?” Sam flushes, and Dean feels him shift under his hand, hips pushing up into the touch just a little. “If it’s not maybe it should be.”

Sam smirks tiredly at that. “You want all your pedicurists dressed like this?” 

Dean doesn’t even think twice before answering. “You’re the only one touching my feet, Sammy,” he says, lazily nuzzling Sam’s neck, chasing a drop of sweat. He latches onto Sam’s ear for a hot second, feels him shiver. “And you’re better than anyone else out there, no matter what you’re wearing.”

“You say the sweetest things, Dean,” Sam tells him, catching his brother’s mouth in a quick kiss. “Let’s go shower. I’m gross, and you have laundry to do.” He stands up, but Dean stays in the chair, admiring the curve of Sam’s ass in tight red satin. Sam throws him a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, smile quirking his lips. 

“Just admiring the view, Sammy,” Dean says cheerfully. He tucks himself back in, then hauls himself up with an effort, plastering himself against Sam’s back. “As much as I love you in these, I can’t _wait_ to see you out of them.”


End file.
